Blessing #8

This picture is from our 25th wedding anniversary. Perhaps the best anniversary we ever enjoyed. Why? Because Debbie arranged it.

In all the previous years, at least the ones I can remember, I made the plans and the arrangements. Not without input from Deb, but she was always willing, mostly willing, to let me make the most of it. Which was probably a mistake considering our first wedding anniversary.

I thought the best way to celebrate our early nuptials, in addition to the obligatory nonsensical list (Linen, Cotton, Marble, Pearl, Diamond, etc.) was to book a table at a fancy restaurant. Fortunately Los Angeles has many fine, fine overpriced fancy restaurants. On this occasion, we went to LoCanda Venetta on 3rd street.

The hostess escorted us to our upstairs table, lit by candles, and a panoply of other young couples who all looked to have been celebrating their wedding anniversaries as well. We enjoyed a bottle of wine together and I congratulated myself on making a wise decision. 

But not for long.

You see, as is often the case at these hoity toity establishments, they often try to optimize their limited floor space by cramming tables for two, uncomfortably close together. Within minutes another couple had sat right next to us. So close I could tell you what he ate for lunch and what perfume vat she had fallen into. You know if I had the wherewithal to be able to identify women's perfume.

Before our antipasto had arrived, Deb excused herself to go to the bathroom. But as she stood up, she accidentally knocked over the man's glass of red Cabernet, which discolored his tacky white herringbone sport blazer which I had estimated cost more than $800.

It was quite a scene. And the guy, lacking any type of grace, started going off. Naturally I apologized and offered to pay for the dry cleaning or a new blazer, if need be. But his temper would not allow for any negotiation.

Of course this had to happen at the beginning of the meal and not later when we had finished dessert, which we naturally passed on. Between the glaring, the staring and the deafening silence at both tables separated by a mere inch and a half, it might have been the most socially uncomfortable 90 minutes of our lives.

That is until we descended the stairs and started laughing about Señor Stuckup and his aromatic date.

Fast forward to 24 years later. 

Deb presented me with a present of two LA Dodger T-shirts, one for me and one for her. Then handed me an envelope with two tickets to the Dodgers playoff game against the Cubs. Or the Cardinals. It didn't matter. Particularly since I had never been to a National League playoff game. Or any other type of playoff game. 

As you can see from the photo, we were all the way up in the nosebleed seats behind the right field foul pole. And as you can see from our smiles, they were perfect. 

By about the third inning, the woman who snapped this picture for us and Deb had become best friends, as they both shared Midwestern roots and that's how Midwesterners roll. Plus, Debbie had an absolute uncanny ability to meet a stranger and befriend a stranger within 60 seconds. Well, except impolite schmucks who got in the way of her klutzy wine spilling.

Nevertheless, of the 29 anniversaries we got to celebrate together, and because there will be no more, it will be the one I treasure most.

So, who won? The Dodgers? The Cubs? The Cardinals? 

Pretty sure, I did.